Faded Dreams by Eileen Haworth Read Free Book Online Page B

had a fire…they’ll just think your mam’s been burning the cornflakes again!’
       He quickly tidied the tree, discarding the blackened charred branches and turning its undamaged side to face the room. The front door opened and then eight smart young men in uniform were in the parlour laughing at Joe’s tale.
       ‘Just look at me singed eyelashes,' he made a grab for his wife’s backside, ‘anyway, thank the Lord that’s all I singed, eh Florrie…or you wouldn’t have got that Christmas present I promised you!’
       A quick glance at Florrie's reddened cheeks told Frank Neild how much she resented the joke at her expense. He gave her a reassuring wink and a squeeze on her hand until she gently pulled away. He added a small bottle of Scotch to the crate of beer and cider on the kitchen table and then with Joe knocking out songs on the piano, the party was  in full swing.
       A nervous Betty watched as her father’s behaviour become more outrageous. while her mother flirted openly, paying particular attention to Frank Neild.
       Unperturbed by the goings-on, Ellen sipped from the glasses of booze as the soldiers cuddled her and danced her around the room.
       Towards midnight there was a change of tempo and Joe’s repertoire grew more sentimental - There’ll Be Bluebirds Over The White Cliffs Of Dover followed by, When They Sound The Last All-clear. And then with sombre faces and slurred voices they all sang, We’ll Meet Again.
       Frank wasn’t the only one with tears dripping off his chin on to the rough serge of his khaki tunic. The alcohol that initially boosted their morale on this lonely Christmas Eve was no cure for the melancholy now sweeping over them.
       Florrie was brought down to earth by the sight of her youngest daughter staggering towards her. ‘What have you been giving her, you stupid buggers?’ she raged. ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, the lot of you, giving a 7-year old kid cider?’
       Turning to survey the commotion, Joe almost fell off the piano-stool.  He couldn’t have Florrie embarrassing his friends, shouting and swearing at them and showing herself up like that…they might not want to come again.
       ‘Aw shut your gob Florrie.  What’s up with you?’
       ‘Our Ellie’s drunk, you silly sod, that’s what’s up with me.’
       Lunging forward he reached for the child and laughed, ‘Well I’ll go to buggery…our Ellie’s pissed! Come here to your dad…you’re all right, aren’t you cock?’
       Ellen screamed hysterically, the room was spinning faster than the painted wooden top her dad had made for her birthday. Brushing him aside, her mother scooped her up and staggered out of the room. Frank caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs.
       'Here, Florrie, let me help you with the kids.'
       'I can manage,' she muttered over her shoulder.
       She hauled a sobbing Ellen upstairs with Betty, pasty-faced but still dry-eyed, following close behind.
       Joe was back at the piano and the mood had lightened by the time Florrie returned to the parlour. Drunken voices were belting out, How’re Ya Gonna Keep ‘em Down On The Farm After They’ve Seen Paree followed by, You Made Me Love You, I Didn’t Wanna Do It. And then Joe’s particular favourite, Somebody Stole My Gal, which he played three times in response to shouts of “Encore!”
       Edie and Ben Sagar tried to ignore the pandemonium seeping through the thin walls. They put the finishing touches to their children’s Christmas stockings and quietly prepared for bed.

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN
       It was just before dawn when Betty nudged Ellen back to life; on the bottom of their beds sat two bulging pillowcases.
       ‘Wake up, Ellie, he’s been! Father Christmas has been!’
       Still queasy after last night, Ellen  clambered slowly down the bed and dug deep with both hands.  Father Christmas hadn’t brought everything on her list, but then he never